


Carry That Weight

by yesterday



Category: DRAMAtical Murder (Visual Novel), DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends With Benefits, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 21:31:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5221643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yesterday/pseuds/yesterday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mizuki wishes; he wishes, wants, hopes, all these heart over mind matters that won’t do because he <i>know</i>s: that he can’t have Aoba.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carry That Weight

**Author's Note:**

> this is set during Aoba’s troubled early 20s, and then shortly before dmmd occurs. 
> 
> i've had a pretty awful november so i thought i'd write myself a treat that i'd also share. enjoy!

“Shit, Mizuki-- you had all that junk back there, but you don’t have a single god-damn umbrella?” Aoba shouts over the rain, the torrential downpour nearly drowning out his voice.

Mizuki shouts something back, but it’s lost in the howl of the wind and the sound of their shoes splashing through puddles the size of the ocean. Typhoon season in Midorijima arrives quickly and without warning, and unfortunately for Aoba and Mizuki, they’re caught right in the middle of it. 

By the time they make it to Mizuki’s apartment, they’re both soaked to the bone. Mizuki’s hair clings to his face, and when he looks over at Aoba, he isn’t much better off. Reaching for the light switch, Mizuki flips it expectantly. Then once more. 

Nothing. The apartment remains pitch black. 

“Looks like the power’s out,” he sighs, fiddling with his Coil. Turning the flashlight app on, he shines it right in Aoba’s face.

“You’re kidding me,” Aoba says flatly. “And quit pointing that thing at me, you jackass.” 

“Nope, it’s dead. Don’t worry, I think I’ve got some candles around here somewhere.” Venturing into his apartment with his Coil as assistance, Mizuki ignores Aoba’s grumbling and complaining. He finds the candles stashed away in a seldom used drawer in his kitchen, pulling a bunch out. There’s a motley assortment of tea lights, some fat, wicked candles, a large scented one in a mason jar that Mizuki vaguely recalls receiving from a Dry Juice member. Lighting that one up, he hands it to Aoba. “Take this with you, change into something dry. You can borrow something from my closet.”

Never mind that the last few times Aoba borrowed anything from his closet, he never got it back. He doesn’t really mind, and he’s always figured Aoba needs it more than him. 

Once he’s done lighting the candles and distributing them throughout the room, Mizuki heads towards the bedroom, shedding his jacket along the way. Water is splattered across the floor, left in Aoba’s wake.

Mizuki nearly trips over the wet shirt lying in the threshold of his bedroom. 

“Aoba, don’t leave your shit on the floor.” Mizuki steps into the room, wet shirt in hand. 

“What, you got a hamper around here?” There’s a flash of blue hair plastered to pale skin before it vanishes beneath an old, worn, but impossibly soft t-shirt of his. 

Mizuki balls up Aoba’s shirt, tossing it into the hamper. “Right there.” 

“Huh,” Aoba says. “Didn’t know that was there. Anyway… take your fucking clothes off already, Mizuki,” he grumbles impatiently, plucking at the hem of Mizuki’s shirt. “It’s freezing.” 

“What,” Mizuki laughs. “What am I supposed to do about that?” But he obligingly removes his shirt, pulling his belt free from his soaked pants too. They’re probably ruined- leather and water don’t play well together. 

“Warm me up,” Aoba demands. “After you dry off, since your shitty apartment’s out of power, and ‘cause you don’t want me to get sick.” 

Shaking his head at Aoba, Mizuki peels the rest of his clothing off. _Go home_ , he could tell Aoba. _Maybe the power’s working there,_ he could say, but doesn’t. ‘cause he knows Aoba doesn’t have anywhere to go, and he’d rather he be here, where he can keep an eye on him, than somewhere out on the streets. Especially in this weather. “Yeah, yeah. Coming right up, Mizuki the human heater.”

“Damn right.” 

“What do you wanna do? I’ve got a couple movies on my Coil. We can move all the blankets onto the couch. Ah… you should dry off your hair too.” After tossing a towel at Aoba, he turns around to pull on a dry set of clothing. When he turns back around, Aoba has the towel arranged around his shoulders. 

“...sure. Here works.” Predictably, Aoba dives into bed first, propping the pillows up onto the headboard. Mizuki slides in next to him, and they sit comfortably, shoulder to shoulder. Aoba pulls the blankets over them. Their knees touch, and they squabble in the flickering candlelight over what to watch. 

Halfway through the movie, Aoba shifts and ducks in to kiss Mizuki on the jaw, scraping his teeth over skin. 

“Movie’s not done, kid,” Mizuki chides. 

“Don’t care,” Aoba grouses, climbing into his lap. “‘m still cold.” 

Sliding his hand beneath Aoba’s shirt, Mizuki starts. His skin is like ice. Aoba swings forward, trying to catch Mizuki’s mouth in another kiss. Droplets of water hit Mizuki’s face, and he blinks. “I told you to dry your hair, didn’t I? That’s probably why. Come here--” 

As Mizuki reaches out to gather the towel up and squeeze the water from Aoba’s hair, Aoba jerks away. 

“It’s fine,” he snaps. In the faint light, his eyes flash yellow. “Just touch me, it’ll be faster that way.” 

“Aoba…” 

Aoba glances off to the side, and Mizuki sways. “You’re a real handful, you know that?” Then he coaxes Aoba to face him again, cupping his cheek and leaning in to kiss him warmly.

“Says the leader of the biggest troublemaking group in town,” Aoba says in between greedy clashes of mouth and tongue, fisting his hands in Mizuki’s shirt. 

“That’s different.” Stroking his thumbs up Aoba’s sides, he can’t resist asking him again, “Changed your mind yet about joining Dry Juice?”

Aoba and him, they’ve got a thing going on. Some days, Mizuki tries to put a name to it, but he usually fails. They’re friends, not-quite-lovers, sometimes Mizuki suspects Aoba sleeps with him because he needs to, needs that human reassurance and warmth. Mizuki doesn’t mind giving it to him. Hasn’t been able to stop wanting to help Aoba since the first time he saw him, standing over a group of punks he’d knocked down with a haughty, yet fragile tilt to his head. Split lip and tousled hair, defiance and trouble in a bundle. He’d asked him then and there on the spot to join Dry Juice, only to be turned down.

But after that, this kid ( _”...Aoba. Call me that.”_ ) started popping up at the Black Needle, hanging around and taking drinks from the frequent patrons who’d buy him one, bewitched by the raw energy crackling around him. They got to talking, and one thing led to another.

Mizuki gives him drinks on the house now, though he tells Aoba he’s racking up a debt he’ll never be able to pay off.

“I don’t need a team,” Aoba says. “And you don’t need someone like me hanging around.” 

_You need a team the most,_ Mizuki doesn’t say. A family to watch out for him and keep him company, people he can talk to and relax around. Instead, he curls his hand around Aoba’s narrow hips instead, nosing at his throat. “Yeah? Then why are you here?”

“...you already know why.” Patience isn’t Aoba’s strong suit, particularly when he’s agitated. 

Humming in his throat, Mizuki sucks idly at the delicate skin of Aoba’s neck, running his free hand up to thumb at a nipple. He’s rewarded with a hitch of breath. “‘cause I’m a great lay?”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Aoba snorts, and then it chokes itself off into a sharp gasp when Mizuki pinches him. He’s all sharp angles, squirming restlessly in Mizuki’s lap, hands roaming restlessly like he can’t decide whether to shove Mizuki down or let him touch him as he wants. 

“Relax,” Mizuki tells him, “I’ll take care of you.” 

“That’s what I’ve been telling you to do from the start, you shithead.” Swearing at him, Aoba crashes his mouth back against Mizuki’s once he yanks him up. Aoba always kisses aggressively, like it’s a fight, and Mizuki does his best to temper it, draw it out into something gentler and softer. Less teeth. Sometimes he succeeds, sometimes he doesn’t. Today’s one of the better days, when Aoba parts his mouth and lets him plunge his tongue in. 

Aoba likes kissing, Mizuki’s figured out. So he takes his time in deconstructing him with slow, thorough kisses that leave him moaning and writhing in his lap. Touching him, smoothing his hands over his spine and then bringing them around to toy with his nipples. He’s hard, rubbing his dick against Mizuki through his clothes desperately. Mizuki’s hardly better off, but he keeps it slow, thrusting up against Aoba lazily. 

“Mizuki,” Aoba manages to choke out, “Fuck, stop teasing me already and _do something._ ”

“I’m not teasing.” A lie. “I thought you liked kissing.”

Aoba swears at him again, and Mizuki laughs. He sinks further down against the headboard, prompting Aoba to rise to his knees. Tugging at the borrowed pants, pulls them down just enough for Aoba’s cock to spring out. Mizuki takes a second to admire the curve of it, flushed and hard against Aoba’s stomach. Gripping Aoba’s hips, Mizuki closes his mouth around him, sucking at the head generously. 

“S-shit, give a guy a little warning--” Working his fingers into Mizuki’s hair, Aoba trembles, automatically trying to push deeper into the heat of Mizuki’s mouth. Mizuki laughs wordlessly around his dick, and starts to take him in deeper. Relinquishing his hold on Aoba’s hips, he reaches around and cups his thighs instead. Above him, Aoba is coming undone at the seams as Mizuki hollows his mouth around him. His shoulders shake, eyes wide and glassy as he peers down at Mizuki. 

Without warning but for a quick squeeze of Aoba's ass, Mizuki shuts his eyes and takes him in all the way to the back of his throat. Aoba’s cock rests heavy on his tongue, Mizuki choking down on his gag reflex and swallowing around him. It’s greedy, how he sucks and bobs his head over him. Pushes at all of Aoba’s buttons, slides his tongue over the slit at the head of his cock over and over again until Aoba is shaking above him, trembling uncontrollably. 

Mizuki feels the tug at his hair, Aoba winding his fingers through them. The laugh reverberates in his throat briefly, the taste of Aoba’s cock heady. There’s a little jerk of Aoba’s hips; he pushes his cock deeper into Mizuki’s mouth. Mizuki lets him, relaxes as well as he can. Tears bead at the corner of his eyes, and he’s gasping, gasping around Aoba as he fucks his face. It’s only when he starts to gag that he takes hold of Aoba’s hips, slows his pace into something that won’t leave him hoarse in the morning. 

“Shit, Mizuki,” Aoba groans. “That’s good, I’m gonna--”

When Aoba comes undone, he seizes up with a whine at the back of his throat. Never anything louder, which is a shame, Mizuki thinks. That’s why he doesn’t let him pull away even when Aoba quakes and spills his load in his mouth. That’s why he continues to work him over through it, forces every last drop out of Aoba until Aoba is protesting and squirming restlessly, held up only by his firm hold on him. 

Swallowing, Mizuki pulls off of him with a pop, licking his lips clean. Aoba collapses back onto the bed, chest heaving. 

“That good enough?” Mizuki asks, cheeky. He admires the flush of Aoba’s face, the colour leading down from neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his too big shirt. 

Aoba stirs, picks his head up just enough to glare at him. “You’re a jackass.” 

“Isn’t that a pretty rude thing to say to your good friend?” Adjusting his pants, Mizuki rolls off the bed. “Be right back.” 

The tiled floor is cold beneath his feet, the reflection of the candles flickering in the mirror. Apart from how cold it is, Mizuki could almost call the entire situation cozy. Rinsing his mouth out quickly, Mizuki heads back into the bedroom. 

Aoba is curled up in the middle of the sheets, hair fanned out around him. His eyes tracks Mizuki’s movements as he approaches, cat-like. His fingers find the edge of Mizuki’s shirt, tugging at him until Mizuki leans down. He fans his hand over Mizuki’s collarbone, butts his head against his chest. 

Mizuki lets himself be pulled back down on the bed, covering Aoba’s lean frame with his own. The rigid tension that so frequently holds Aoba taut has seeped from him, leaving him loose-limbed and relaxed. Aoba is pliant and pleased, and, Mizuki thinks, on the verge of purring into his mouth as they kiss again. 

“Come on, put it in me.” Aoba murmurs, cupping Mizuki’s hard cock through his pants. 

With a hard exhale, Mizuki rolls his hips into the touch, nipping at Aoba’s lower lip. “You sure? I can take care of it, if you’re tired.” 

There’s a snort from Aoba. “I’m not old like you.”

“Ouch, watch it,” Mizuki laughs. “You’re gonna hurt my feelings-- jesus, _Aoba_ -” 

Pressing the heel of his palm against Mizuki until he hisses, Aoba squirms beneath him deliberately when he pins him back down beneath him. He stays still while Mizuki fumbles with the nightstand for the lube, pulling it out. 

Aoba’s obliging, rolling over onto his stomach when Mizuki nudges him. Pushes his face into the pillows and pushes his hips the best he can onto Mizuki’s fingers as he opens him up slowly. He whines and writhes and comes apart beneath Mizuki as he strokes over his prostate, and Mizuki watches, fascinated. A bare strip of skin gleams pale and smooth in the candlelight, Aoba’s overlarge shirt riding up higher and higher. Mizuki sucks a wet kiss on exposed skin; it’s hot beneath his lips. 

He’s almost painfully hard, watching Aoba squirm and feeling the clench of his ass around his fingers, the slick slide of his fingers disappearing into him easily. When he reaches around, Aoba’s hard again. 

“Just, just--” Aoba is whimpering, small, choked off sounds. “Do it already..”

“I want to make sure you’re ready, Aoba,” says Mizuki, but between the two of them, they know that concern’s only half of it, because he also loves seeing Aoba like this. 

“I _am_ ,” Aoba spits out vehemently. “Hurry up or I’m taking it back.”

“I get it, take it easy Aoba.” Rubbing his back soothingly, Mizuki yanks the waistband of his pants down, groaning as his cock springs free against his stomach. Mizuki fists Aoba’s cock, feels the slickness of it beneath his hand and slides his own over Aoba’s ass until Aoba parts his knees further with a warning growl. 

He’s wet and inviting, pushing back into Mizuki as he thrusts into him inch by inch. Mizuki doesn’t stop until he’s completely in him, balls deep. There’s an urge itching at his fingers, making them flex restlessly. His shirt is sticking to Aoba’s skin, and he wants to peel it from him. Remove everything he’s wearing until he’s laid bare beneath him. Too bad he’s likely to complain. On the other hand, the heat is nearly suffocating for him, and it prompts a question from Mizuki. “Still cold, Aoba?”

“ _Move_ ,” moans Aoba, grinding back on his cock. 

With a final huff of laughter, Mizuki complies. He pulls back and then spreads Aoba open beneath him with his dick again, fucks into him carefully and slowly. Aoba is unbelievably pliant, taking him easily, impatiently. Every thrust into him, Aoba meets. It’s unbearably good, and Mizuki wishes; he wishes, wants, hopes, all these heart over mind matters that won’t do because he _knows_ : that he can’t have Aoba. That this is only temporary. 

He’d take care of Aoba if he’d only let him. 

“Mizuki?”

Denting Aoba’s hip with his hand, Mizuki responds with a kiss, tempers the greedy bite of Aoba’s mouth sloppily. Reaching around again, he jerks him off steadily. When he drags his thumb in lazy circles over the head of Aoba’s cock, Aoba makes these tiny, choked off whimpers that drive Mizuki crazy. 

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. 

“Going too slow--” Aoba grouses, trying to disrupt Mizuki’s rhythm, clenching down tight around his dick. 

With a final nip at Aoba's jaw, Mizuki straightens, sinking hilt deep into him, hands on his hips. Grinding against him, Mizuki hums. There's a hiss as he hits jackpot, finding Aoba's sweet spot. That's when he picks up his pace, pushing the head of his cock over his prostate as he splits him open. 

Aoba’s elbows give, and he buries his face into the covers with a wail. Heavy breathing fills the room, the sound of skin on skin. “Nngh-- nn-”

“That's good,” Mizuki pants, palming Aoba's dick. “You're doing great.”

He gives it to him hard and fast; it's how Aoba likes it, and Mizuki isn't that much of a sadist. He wants to give Aoba what he wants. With Aoba writhing on his cock, his suppressed moans shaking through his lean frame, heart curls in his stomach. Aoba's slick in his hand, his cock hard and hot, and he can tell he's getting close-- can feel Aoba start to tighten up around him like he always does before he's about to come. 

“S-shit, Mizuki, I’m…” Aoba whines, rolling his hips. 

“Go on,” Mizuki murmurs, and tightens his hold on Aoba. Fucking Aoba through his orgasm the best he can, Mizuki shuts his eyes tightly when he can't take it anymore. He comes deep in Aoba's ass, stilling with a groan. Beneath him, Aoba is breathless, quaking. There's semen caught on his fingers; he can't resist stroking it over Aoba's cock until he squirms away, oversensitive and swearing at him. 

Pulling out, Mizuki collapses to the side, and Aoba onto his stomach. They lie together quietly for several minutes. Finally, Mizuki drops a kiss against Aoba's shoulder before he gets up to grab a damp towel to clean both of them up. Aoba rolls over sluggishly when prompted, lets Mizuki clean him up and bundle him beneath the covers. 

“Don't go.” Aoba grabs the hem of Mizuki's shirt, eyes heavy.

“I'm right here,” soothes Mizuki, slipping into bed. Aoba curls up around him, face pressed into his shoulder. “Go to sleep, Aoba.”

“Mm.” 

It doesn't take long for Aoba's breathing to even out. Mizuki keeps watch over him until he's sure he's fast asleep before drifting off himself.

Mizuki tells himself that Aoba’s never made a habit of sticking around when he wakes up to an empty bed the next morning, but the truth’s never made it hurt any less. 

\--- 

“Jeez, it's really coming down out there,” Aoba says, glancing at the roof, where the ceaseless patter of rain resounds. 

“Yeah, it's that time of year again, isn't it?” replies Mizuki absently as he pulls off his jacket. It's damp from the rain that the umbrella him and Aoba shared couldn't keep out, blown their way by wind. At least it’s better than the last time he and Aoba ended up caught in a storm together, a couple of years back.

“You know that, but you didn't bring an umbrella? So much for being a responsible adult. You're lucky I was around to walk you back!” 

Mizuki laughs, running a hand ruefully through his hair. “I forgot about it when I left this morning-- and it always sneaks up on you.” 

Outside, a rumble of thunder reverberates. Aoba pauses, listening to it with a frown. 

“Just be careful, or you're gonna get caught in it next time,” he says. 

“Yeah. Listen, are you sure you don't want to stay the night? It's nasty out there, and I know it's a bit of a walk before you get back to your place.” 

“It's fine,” Aoba smiles. “I'm worried the power will go out, and I don't want Granny to be alone just in case. Thanks, though. “

“Yeah,” Mizuki says, walking Aoba to the door. “Text me when you get back, okay?”

Pulling his hood back up and grabbing his umbrella, Aoba steps outside with a nod. “Got it, check in with my babysitter when I'm home.” 

“Hey,” Mizuki laughs. “I'm looking out for you.”

“I'm not a kid anymore,” Aoba pouts, before his face smooths out into a fond smile. “Don't worry about me.”

“Old habits die hard,” Mizuki says with a shrug. Light spills out beyond the threshold, Mizuki leaning against the door frame. 

Aoba scrutinizes him, and finally says, “Take care of yourself, Mizuki.”

“You too, Aoba.”

Turning, he heads down the stairs to ground level with a lazy wave back.

Mizuki can’t stop himself from peering over the balcony ledge, searching for Aoba’s retreating figure. The wind blows rain into his face, droplets catching on his eyelashes and rolling down his cheeks when he blinks. He watches Aoba jog away from his building, illuminated by the faint glow of the streetlights, watches him go until he can't see him anymore. 

The lights flicker, and then die as he steps back into the apartment. Mizuki sighs.


End file.
